


Mutants. Who Knew?

by sian1359



Category: Battle Creek (TV), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Gen, M/M, Mutants
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-28
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-04-17 14:55:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4670897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sian1359/pseuds/sian1359
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Russ and Milt get called to join the Governor's security detail during a Mutant Rights conference.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mutants. Who Knew?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Zippit](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zippit/gifts).



> Character voices are sometimes harder than I imagine. I hope I've gotten Russ' well enough.
> 
> This takes place after Battle Creek ended. As far as the X-Men go, choose your version. I see the characters visually now mostly from the movies, along with some of their characterizations, but I also have read the comics and the assorted novels for more years than many fans have been alive, so there is no way I'm not influenced, especially by the X-titles of the 90s.
> 
> Zippit, I hope you enjoy this at least half as much as I enjoyed writing it for you.

_"What's up, Commander?"_

_"You are, Detective. Seems an old high school pal of yours, Vince Kastic, has been asked to head up the Governor's upcoming Mutant Rights Summit and he's drafted you to be part of the security detail. You've got eight hours to get to Ann Arbor and, yes, you're flying."_

_"I am not … I … I didn't even vote for Hansen and I haven't seen Spastic Kastic in twenty years. Send someone else. Send White. He campaigned for Hansen. Or, Jacocks. She's good with politicians and is much less likely to embarrass the department by eating with the wrong fork."_

_"Don't worry about the fork problem. Milt's going with you. Just watch and copy which utensils he uses."_

_"Captain – "_

_"_ Detective _._

_"You are working under a wrong assumption if you think you have a say in this, Russ. As if you think I have a say in this. And don't give me any of your bullshit about working with Milt. You've already been working as de facto partners over the past year and now that Milt's back to full duty from his shooting, Scooter convinced the FBI to make an official interdepartmental task force."_

_"Why would the mayor – "_

_"Think of it as a working vacation. A chance for the two of you to explore how your relationship has changed –"_

_"We don't have a – "_

_"Sell it to someone else, Russ. Every behavior you exhibited with Holly, you're doing ten times over Milt. I don't care if you man-up and admit it to him, or if you use it to fuck Milt out of your system. I just want a week away from your drama."_

********

Russ Agnew didn't do guilt. He knew he was a cynic; was blunt-spoken if not downright rude. He'd learned early, however, how smiles and kind words only hid lies; how trusting someone only made it easier for them to screw you. So he didn't worry about making friends, didn't defer to anyone who hadn't earned it, and could count on the fingers of his hands the people he trusted or even really respected. He'd never thought himself particularly lonely, however, since most people weren't really worth knowing. And while he was far from perfect, skill was the only metric with which he measured his co-workers and hoped to be measured by them in return. When he was wrong, well, it wasn't all that often that he misjudged someone to _their_ detriment. _Under_ estimating someone just didn't happen often enough for Russ to feel guilt, though he could admit to sometimes feeling regret. Mostly, though, he was just glad to _be_ wrong; to find someone he could value and maybe someday respect or eventually trust.

Reaching down to help Milt up from his knees; seeing Milt licked his lips clean while Milt reached into his jacket pocket to remove both a hand wipe and a one of those melt-on-your-tongue breath things (because of course Milt not only acted like a fucking boy scout but had actually been an Eagle Scout before repudiating the organization for their stand on banning or kicking out any kid who'd identified himself as gay or bi), Russ found any number of feelings overtaking him, the regret and, yes, guilt over how it had taken Milt getting shot for Russ to get his head out of his ass and really see the man Milt was instead of the man Russ had expected, right there alongside the fondness and appreciation not just of Milt's overwhelming skill in giving blow jobs, but also in Milt's patience and willingness to wait Russ out.

Russ accepted a second hand wipe and put himself back together (at least on the outside), and accepted Milt's smug smirk as something he'd earned, though Russ wasn't a slouch in the blow job department himself, and he certainly wasn't the one who'd instigated the ambush just minutes before they were due to leave to meet with Kastic so Russ wasn't going to be able to reciprocate until later.

"Anything you want to share?" Milt asked him as they moved in tandem to the weapon case and claimed their respected guns. "You seemed to be thinking a lot more than I might have hoped."

"Fishing for a compliment?" Russ shot back as he holstered his Beretta.

"From you? God forfend," came Milt's response, along with a grin that Russ couldn't help matching.

One of the reasons Russ thought things might actually work between him and Milt like they hadn't between him and Holly, was that Milt seemed to accept that Russ was exactly who he'd shown himself to be too, and wasn't particularly trying or expecting Russ to change just because things had changed between them. Russ wasn't going to stop being a sarcastic, distrustful bastard, just as Milt wasn't going to stop acting like a god damned tool-even if he was more of damn fine troll.

"The point was to get you to relax and let go of whatever had you bothered this morning, not to give you more time to brood," Milt continued, sounding a little too concerned for Russ to just brush it off.

Russ supposed he had sounded off enough about Kastic earlier that Milt might have thought he was brooding, although he'd simply been blowing off steam since he still hadn't figured out why Kastic had wanted him here with the Governor in the first place.

"I appreciate the effort as well as the thought behind it, but I'm fine, Milt," Russ assured him as they headed out. "All I was thinking about was how much time I wasted in trying to figure out how you were playing the department."

That got Milt smiling again as they waited for elevator. "You just can't accept anyone at face value, can you?"

"No one is just who they seem to be. Including, you," Russ reminded him and punched the down button. "You have surprisingly hidden depths."

"Meaning I come off as shallow."

"Hey, you said it, not me. I was complimenting your complexity."

"Uh huh. I supposed I should glad you were thinking about me instead of an old high school buddy."

"Kastic was never a buddy," Russ said with an edge that was as much as suspicion as it was to nip any jealousy in the bud. "That's why I don't trust his motives in asking for me."

Milt nudged his shoulder before they exited into the hotel. "Maybe he really wanted me, but knew the FBI wouldn't go for the suborning?"

Now that Russ could believe. "You get all the press certainly. And the Mayor gave the release about the task force, so Kastic could have heard about you but figured the Governor's pull was better with a local PD than the Feds."

"All the press I've gotten is because of the cases we did together, Russ, not just me. And you're the one with the experience with mutants."

"Knowing someone who can change her hair and nail color doesn’t make me an expert on mutant abilities -- or mutant rights. If anything happens that we're needed for, it'll because we're in law enforcement, not because I know Color-Me-Barbie --

"Jesus! What's up with all the identical cars?" Russ interrupts himself as they come down the steps facing the parking lot. It's filled with dark, four door sedans. "Do rental agencies get a deal?"

"It's easier for the manufacturer to work in bulk, and it saves tax payers money when the government does fleet buys. What's the problem?"

Russ wasn't buying Milt's too innocent expression. "It's a cliché, for one. Two, even little kids can now tell which ones are the government cars, thanks your unimaginative purchasing departments – _and_ Hollywood -- which makes working undercover a bitch."

"And you're a cop, not a Federal agent. A _Homicide_ detective. When was the last time you even had to work undercover?" Milt's widen eyes now crinkled in amusement.

"I still tail suspects."

"So that's why your car looks like you should be starring in an insurance commercial? So no one can identify it and, therefore, you?"

"Like you said, I don't do undercover," Russ grumbled. "So it doesn't matter."

"Hey, no, I'm not judging you or your car," Milt apologized. "I love your car. It's comfortable; is obviously well-broken in. And I'm sure you're very good at undercover wo –You little shit!" Milt growled as he suddenly caught on, He swiped the car keys from Russ' hand. "You're just trying to distract me instead of admitting you don't know which car is ours!"

Russ grinned. Milt wasn't wrong. "Didn't seem you've been bothered with my size before now," he teased, because it got Milt's ears turning red.

"Shut up," came the weak rejoinder. "Just admit that you don't know which car is ours."

"Can't shut up and then admit anything," Russ started, only to stop himself from saying anything more, and stop Milt with a quick, tightening hand on Milt's elbow. De facto only partners or real ones, they'd still worked together long enough for Milt to pick up that Russ had noticed something to be worried about.

"The license plate number is on the key ring," Milt reminded him even as he shifted his gaze to follow Russ' line of sight.

And see the pair of boots sticking out from one of the angled cars down the row opposite from where they just crossed into.

"We should split up and search for the right one, unless you just wanted to try the key in a dozen locks or more?"

"Michigan doesn't require front license plates." Russ took the lead, signaling Milt to step back into the row behind him that he might be able to come upon the boots obliquely.

In addition to the pair of boots, Russ was pretty sure part of the shadow came from someone else, someone who had to be crouched down by the head of the person under the car. If he was a look out, he wasn't doing a very good job, but then standing up by a car yet not doing anything other than scanning the parking lot would have stood out in its own right. It was more likely the second person was acting as back-up over look-out, and that had Russ going for his gun as well as his badge as he approached.

"I imagine rental agencies go with two plates," Milt responded, with just the right amount of exasperation to his tone to sound natural. Not at all as if he'd pulled his own gun and was paralleling Russ' advance.

Closing in, the boots looked an awful lot like the ones Russ was wearing, just as beat up and perfect, the type of boot someone (other than Milt) wore because their job involved a lot of standing or running across concrete and other surfaces not conducive to staying all GQ looking – or all that protective for feet being targets or weapons. He couldn't make out anything more beyond a set of quiet voices, both male, one edging toward strident in tone while the deeper one sounded gruff and maybe a little like Russ' when he was indulging Milt's questions into his methods.

Russ waited a beat for Milt's signal that he was ready, and then snapped out:

"Police! Move away from the car, the both of you. Slowly and keep your hands where I can see them!"

The shadow moved first, hands coming up above the car before the rest of his body followed. He was tall, nearer Milt's height than Russ', with the same kind of clean-cut, Hollywood leading-man jawline. He was even wearing a suit similar in cut and quality to Milt's (certainly not like Russ' off-the-rack two-for-one special), along with a bleeding-edge pair of techy sunglasses that obscured his eyes but did nothing to hide the scowl that Russ immediately decided was more a perpetual look than any reaction to getting caught.

"This is not what it looks like," Square-jaw began.

Even his partner scoffed from where he still lay under the car.

"Doesn’t matter what it looks like," Russ told them. "Only what it is. The order means you, too, Cowboy. Slide on out from under there, very carefully."

"Don't think so, bub. Not quite yet. This pipe bomb –"

Mother fuck!

Russ met Milt's eye and nodded. Milt came through the row and started toward Glasses. "On the ground, hands behind your head –"

That left the cowboy for Russ, who transferred his gun to his left hand as he crouched down and started reaching for the boots with his right.

"The bomb isn't ours!" Glasses argued.

Russ glanced up in time to see Milt put a hand on Glasses' shoulder and start pushing him down.

"Well, the car is, but –"

Of course, although that distracted him for only a couple of seconds, it was enough for Boots to kick Russ' hand away and pull up his feet out of reach unless Russ ducked under to pull him out – and get a fucking gun in his face.

"Out or I'll fucking shoot you through the car!" Russ warned.

"Wait! We're with the Governor," Glasses yelled at the same time.

"Yeah, call _him_ , before you call all your trigger-happy buddies and turn this parking lot into something out of a Baghdad market," Boots added.

Russ almost believed them. But then Milt made a noise of surprise, again pulling Russ' attention, and then pulling Russ away from his suspect when Milt suddenly disappeared between two cars.

"Shit –"

"I'm just trying to keep my glasses on – "

"Fuck your glasses – "

Russ launched himself atop the trunk, sliding on his hip and twisting to bring his gun to bear.   What he saw was Milt and Glasses wrestling for those damn glasses, saw Milt take an elbow to the chin. Milt fell back, which was worrisome, but also gave Russ a clear angle and he cocked his gun ready to shoot; they'd given enough warnings god dammit!

Only to be blocked. Not only by a body suddenly lunging up in front of him that was flashing sunlight off of metal into Russ' eyes, but from suddenly finding the front end of his gun missing.

Just fucking gone.

"What the fu – "

Again Russ was stopped; surprise stopped his words as somehow his body stopped its slide, right before he would have crashed into Boots. Who had nine-fucking-inch blades curving between his fingers! Boots also wasn't moving, which seemed to be a good thing, considering Russ might have ended up impaled on those blades had either of them been able to continue forward.

"Really, Logan? Scott? I leave you alone for ten minutes -- "

"My glasses, Jean?" Glasses said all too dryly given the situation, or so Russ thought although he couldn't move his head enough to see him, see Milt, or discover the gal who came with the sexy voice.

*Thank you,* Russ heard in his head and yeah, okay, that made a lot of sense. Not that he was happy about it.

Right. Mutants.

Who could read minds, sprout blades, and stop people with invisible fields.

"Here you go, Scottie," yet another voice announced itself, and Russ was getting a little fed up with not being able to move.

To be able to see if Milt was okay --

Even as he formed that thought, he _could_ move again.

Not caring if he ended up on his ass, Russ twisted away from the asshole in front of him instead of trying to stop his slide off the car. He needed to check on Milt.

"I'm good, Russ," Milt answered his unasked question. "Are you?"

"Fine. Confused, but fine."

"If you allow, we can probably answer many of your questions," Sexy-voice answered, this time aloud.

Russ wasn't surprised to see that her looks matched her voice. Or surprised to be answered with a smile and a twinkle in her eyes as he 'heard':

*My name is Jean. Logan has the claws, Scott the glasses, and the man helping your partner to his feet is Remy. Yes, all four of us are mutants and, yes, we are here as guests of your governor. That's probably why the bomb was set, although that isn't our car. I would guess someone else got confused by how they all look the same.*

***

_"Congratulations, Detective. You caught a bomber – "_

_"It wasn't just me – "_

_"Fine, the group of you caught a bomber. Who happened to be in the employ of the same guy who brought you to Ann Arbor to expose any such threat. Did Kastic explain why he tapped you?"_

_"He didn't say, but I imagine he didn't think I was good enough to stop him, or that somehow I'd be sympathetic to his anti-mutant stance. He never was very good at reading people."_

_"I guess we'll have to be happy for that, Russ. It was your car after all."_

_"Only because the idiot he hired got the wrong one."_

_"As did the mutants who first found the bomb. I suppose I shouldn't send them the bill for replacing your gun and covering the damages to the rental car?"_

_"You can try, Commander, but … "_

_"Yeah. But._

_"So one of them really did have metal claws growing out of his hands? That could cut through steel? How does that even happen? Bone claws, I suppose I could understand. Or ones made out the same stuff as our finger and toe nails – did he have claws between his toes too?"_

_"Not that he said, but I think there was quite a bit of information that was kept secret. On their side, that is. They also had a genuine telepath."_

_"We live in weird times, Russ. Next thing you know, we'll be repelling an alien invasion."_

_"Not in Battle Creek, Ma'am."_

_"Yeah. I suppose there is that – "_

_"At least not until they come for our cereal."_

 

\-- finis --

 


End file.
